


Midnight Masquerade

by traveler_of_worlds_archived (gen_is_gone)



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Other, archived fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:40:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28496226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gen_is_gone/pseuds/traveler_of_worlds_archived
Summary: The Hall is somber, awaiting Persephone. Hallowe'en oneshot.Archived fic. Originally published on fanfiction.net.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Red John | Thomas McAllister, Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Kudos: 5





	Midnight Masquerade

**Author's Note:**

> Archived from fanfiction.net, and originally written at the age of sixteen. No changes have been made to the work, and it has been added here for the sake of keeping a stable archived record. Originally Published: 10-23-10.

This started out as a writing project to get my muse back and morphed into a character study of The Mentalist through symbolism. Yeah. Warnings are as follows: blatant over symbolizing, making use of one the most cliched plot tropes in the history of writing, and of course, my funhouse on acid alert. Yep, another weird one. It should be fairly obvious who's who, but no names of actual Mentalist characters are ever mentioned in this Mentalist fanfic. And so, dear readers, enjoy.

\---

The Hall is somber, eerily lit with perhaps a thousand candles that flicker in the vast gloom and cast ghastly shadows on the crimson walls. The Hall is filled, crowed and brimming with Shades dressed all in red who turn in adulation at the creaking of the great polished doors and whose whispers fall silent at the apparition that casts a spasming silhouette at the top of the ebony steps.

Persephone. Death's consort. He is not one of them, but he is their guest of honor. He is Death's one and only, in that while there have been others before him, none captivate their master such as he does. It is difficult to say that Death loves; instead He is passionate. A raging, blood-lusty sort of passionate, and He has swept up many in His path this way. The shades are dressed all in red but still they seem insubstantial, hollow and frail gray. They lean in as Death and His guest, His prize sweep down the ebony steps, whisper and crowd and fight to reach this living breathing man. Long for blood themselves. Death and His desire for the raging crimson liquid is what brought them to this fate, but now they need it. Need to bathe in blood and drink it to feel, fleetingly, alive again.

He is Persephone, and he is courted, kidnapped by Death. Death is ghastly, ferocious in a skull cap and masque reminiscent of plague times. This is, after all, a masquerade of sorts. An eerie violin rises from the Hall and the Shades dressed all in red dance, slow and mournful and somber, as befitting the occasion. Take each others' pale hands, step a graceful minuet on the diamond patterned ballroom floor. Death's Persephone watches wide eyed this dance, wide blue eyes that gleam in fear like sapphires lost in the ruby of the hall.

Death claps hands with spindly fingers and the Shades speed up by fractions, now waltz. The music sounds a haunting melody that reverberates round the Hall; bends and echoes, warping a funeral dirge into a dancing tune and the Shades speed up again. More a folk dance, this, almost cheerful but for the setting, wide blue eyed Persephone and Death who looms and watches the festivities, ominous. He gives a nod and now the music swells, shrieking up from violins and wailing to the rafters of the cavernous Hall. It shrieks and bends and echoes and still the Shades dance, no identifiable form now, whirl and step and leap and scream in agony and misery and the lust of the dead for blood. They turn and spin, wheel in gloom, faster, faster now and cry in anger, life cut short. Insubstantial feet stamp the diamond patterned ballroom floor, press and shove and shriek and scream in desperate, hopeless longing. Limbs flail, uncontrollable, they wheel and spin like rag dolls and at Death's whim they dance.

Out of this She steps, his Shade. Persephone's wide eyes widen further, horror to see Her here, in this Hall of dead and Death, pale and hollow and frail gray. She is dressed all in red, dark hair flows down crimson shoulders and eyes of jet gaze into sapphire. Persephone trembles, watching Her, longs to race down the ebony steps, onto the diamond patterned ballroom floor and gather Her up in his arms. He looks, instinctively, to Death, awaits consent, an allowance to go to Her. Death is amused by this it seems, from what is visible under the skull cap and masque. He nods, and Persephone runs. Trips down the steps, across the Hall and She catches him and holds him fiercely, puts Her insubstantial body between Persephone and Death. He sobs into Her crimson shoulder, terror and blood-lust and the old agonies of loss, and they stand untouched by the rage filled dance around them.

Death watches this, once amused, now annoyed. This woman, this Shade, this creation of His that dares defy Him, dreams to shield Persephone from His advances. She is nothing, and with a sudden fury, Death stalks down the ebony steps across the diamond patterned ballroom floor and the Shades fall limp and silent. They draw away in fear of the ire that has overtaken their master and She stands, puts her hollow and frail gray body, dressed all in red for the occasion, before Him. With a snarl Death sweeps Her aside, graceful body falls, dark hair splays around crimson shoulders and Persephone cries out. Tries to rush to Her, fall to Her side but Death halts him with a glance. Annoyance morphs into towering rage and He pins Persephone to a wall by his throat. Wide blue eyes squeeze shut, can't bear to look into fire. Death and His consort face to face, maudlin music cut off on a sour note. The air is heavy, filled with the whispers of the Shades and Persephone's gasping, labored breath.

_Look at me._

Death spits, takes Persephone by the shoulders and shakes him, wide blue eyes snap open.

Something bothers the Shades. Their whispers are scathing, loathsome, as though angry. Someone is fighting through the insubstantial crowd, bullying, shoving, and insolently pushes its way up to Death and His fearful lover. Demeter. Tiny creature unafraid and unaffected bullies her way up to Death, who recoils from her in shock. Persephone stares, wide eyes widen, sapphires meet emeralds. Demeter's narrow green eyes narrow further and she regards him, mother to son, lover to lover. Determining that he is, in fact, unharmed, she turns, assesses Death. He is tall, cloaked in shadow, garbed in crimson, ruby eyes that burn through the skull cap and masque. She is small, veiled in light; smells of strawberries and sun, emeralds pierce straight back at Him. Death's face contorts beneath the masque, roars with fury but she stands and gazes back. Death then attempts to woo her, force himself upon her, still she stands, Mother, Lover, Life, before the great and terrible apparition and emerald eyes stare back. Demeter's Life is strong, fills the somber Hall, makes it swell near to bursting; one giant inhalation of pure untainted _air_.

She's risen again, Persephone's stubborn Shade, and there they stand, they surround him, fight for his possession. One to protect him, one to consume him, one to save him from himself. Heaven and Hell and the world in-between, a triumvirate who silently battle for Persephone. Who falls at their feet, broken, shattered by the force of these three powers. Listens to the cackles of the Shades dressed all in red, gazes blankly up from where he lies between them into eyes of ruby and emerald and jet, races through Elysian Fields, cries out in horror at the pits of Tartarus, and then, at last, awakens in sweet Demeter's arms.

Breaths in the cool crisp air of autumn evening as emerald eyes regard with apprehension. Brown leather creaks; Persephone rises, gasps, and sits back down again. The world waits, beckons with cheerful orange crepe paper and black balloons. His colleagues are dressed all in red (the theme is vampires) and dance without rhythm in a way that would be comical but for his suddenly racing heart. His Demeter raises slim eyebrows then rolls her narrow green eyes.

_Be a normal person for once and join the party._

Teases him, and Persephone's wide blue eyes widen, take in the scene with confusion. He relaxes, smiles brightly, silly of me, just night terrors. Persephone takes Demeter's hand and they step onto the diamond patterned linoleum floor and dance. He relaxes, swings in time to music that blasts from static-y boom-box speakers. All is well, and Persephone lives.

Finis

\---

Epilogue.

Death and the Shade take in the sight from a distance; Persephone dancing with his Demeter, not a care in the world it seems. The Shade sighs, world weary sorrow as Death smirks in amusement.

_Sad I know, You love him too much, but he's mine and not yours and really there is nothing you can do about that._

Persephone's Shade glares at him, hatred and love mixed up in Her face. Persephone is happy in his delusions, happy with Demeter; She knows this and wishes he could stay. But She also knows he must always eventually wake up, always come back to Them in the Hall and dance with Death alone.


End file.
